Hush

The sun is choked, a guttering, dying wick, As shadows stretch and bleed across the floor. The pulse of life grows sluggish, faint, and thick, While logic fails and reason holds no more. No scream escapes the throat of the abyss, Where light is swallowed by a velvet shroud; The air is cold—a predatory kiss— That silences the frantic and the proud. The marble cracks beneath a weight unseen, A crushing stillness born of ancient dread. The space between what is and what has been Is filled with ink and whispers of the dead. The universe bows down its jagged head, To wait in terror for what must appear. The final word of entropy is said hush, the queen has arrived.